


i'll be waiting (i am on your side)

by Chill_with_Penguins



Series: I'll Catch You, Darling [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Faith Lehane Deserves Nice Things, Faith Lehane Needs A Hug, Faith is usually the one comforting not the one hurting, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Oh one more thing, POV Faith Lehane, Pining, Sequel, Slow Burn, Swearing, Unrequited Love, but in another character, but instead I gave her unrequited pining and a messy Sunnydale, but not actually unrequited, fuck joss whedon, like very slow, look! it's here!, mentions of depression, not from the main POV, so I apologize for anything I missed, the accidental-therapist!Faith fic I promised!, this was supposed to be a oneshot but Faith has Opinions so we'll see what happens, tho neither of them knows it yet, we don't stan that toxic entity here, whew i think that's everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29733267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chill_with_Penguins/pseuds/Chill_with_Penguins
Summary: "Well, you coming back saved my life, at least. So there's that."Buffy pauses for a second to look at her, and that smile gets brighter and softer all at once in a way that makes Faith's stomach swim in interesting directions. "Hey, I hadn't thought of that.""That's why you need me around, B," she teases instead of saying any one of the million things she wants to, "I'm the brains of this whole operation."---or: In between accidentally totally crushing on the cute new slayer, Faith plays (reluctant) therapist to the Scoobies. Somebody's gotta clean up this mess, after all.(a companion piece from Faith's POV following my season 3 AU wherein everyone has more feelings about Buffy's time in LA, and it takes some time to sort them out.)
Relationships: Faith Lehane & Buffy Summers, Faith Lehane & Everyone, Faith Lehane & Joyce Summers, Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers, Rupert Giles & Faith Lehane, Scoobies & Faith Lehane
Series: I'll Catch You, Darling [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147289
Comments: 25
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to DHA from Faith's POV! This was supposed to be a brief oneshot giving a little peek into her side of the story, but then I started writing and it was... not that. I shouldn't be surprised, really; Faith's never listened to me before so I don't see why she would start now. 
> 
> Buckle in, everyone, because it's going to be a bumpy ride.
> 
> (As suggested in the series notes, title is from "Deadlines and Commitments" by The Killers.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She's really cool, huh?" Faith says, nodding at Joyce's retreating back. She's trying her best to keep the jealousy from rising up and showing on her face, but it's an ongoing struggle when she's sitting here next to a girl with everything who's spent all day quiet and frowning instead of enjoying what she's got.
> 
> "Best mom ever," Buffy replies with a tight, tense smile.
> 
> Faith hides a scowl and reaches for the fries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faith arrives in town and doesn't immediately make best friends. Once she does, though, she starts to notice some... troubling signs in Sunnydale, and they're not all the demon kind.

Faith likes to think that she's gotten pretty good at judging a situation quickly, over the past few years. God knows she's needed to be able to; slaying doesn't hold a candle to the nightmares she's seen from supposedly loving homes, and half the time the adults in her life are worse than any demon she hunts.

She's always had a kind of second sense for when there's something wrong. A Spider-Man kind of thing, maybe--that's how one of the kids from the foster home when she was twelve described it, anyway. Jamie had stared up at her with wide eyes only emphasized by his oversized glasses with something akin to awe when Faith was able to guess correctly exactly when Mrs. Robinson was about to enter the room, called her Spider-Woman for the whole month before she was displaced again. She's not sure if it's a Slayer thing or just a her thing, a survival instinct that's all too human, and to be honest she doesn't care. All that matters is that it's saved her life a dozen times over, so when she gets that itch on the back of her neck, she doesn't even hesitate--she just gets ready to fight or to run, whatever she needs to do.

And that sense? Sunnydale doesn't just set her on edge, it's a klaxon screaming in her ear, telling her that this whole town is  _ wrong wrong wrong, _ but she's exhausted and desperate and three states past having enough energy to feel anything but terror. When she closes her eyes, she sees her Watcher's body strewn across the floor, everything awash in  _ redredred _ .

She pulls herself into Sunnydale with the last dregs of her energy, because she remembers a hazy conversation from six months ago when her Watcher mentioned that the other Slayer was in a town called Sunnydale. Faith had cracked a joke about putting in enough time to get her own sunny, seaside town to kick back in, and her Watcher had graced her with a rare, wry smile, and it's that memory--those thirty seconds of afternoon conversation, barely remembered--that Faith's been clinging to as she's fled across the country. Sunnydale feels  _ wrong _ \-- _ maybe not so sunny and relaxing after all _ , a part of her mind is murmuring--but so has everything else for the last six weeks. So has running for her life from the monsters she's supposed to be killing.

_ Run or fight, run or fight, run or fight _ those old instincts whisper, caressing her spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps across her skin.

_ I'm tired of running _ , Faith thinks.  _ There's another Slayer here, it's time to fight _ .

(She's lying to herself and she knows it.)

(She didn't come to Sunnydale to run or to fight. She came so she wouldn't die alone.)

\---

She meets the other Slayer, blonde and tiny and a spitfire wrapped in skin and bone, and tries to ignore the way her whole body seems to shake its insides around every time they get near each other. Slayer stuff, probably. She's sore and exhausted and every time she closes her eyes she sees the stuff of nightmares, and here's this other Slayer with all the stuff Faith has always craved--a loving mom, tight-knit friends, a safe, beautiful home--and okay, sue her, Faith is kinda jealous. Buffy has everything, and she's still all wound up, quiet and tense and ready to snap at every little thing.

It's like looking into a mirror of what her life could have been, only Buffy doesn't appreciate a single bit of it, and it leaves her mouth tasting like ashes and blood.

"She's really cool, huh?" Faith says, nodding at Joyce's retreating back. She's trying her best to keep the jealousy from rising up and showing on her face, but it's an ongoing struggle when she's sitting here next to a girl with everything who's spent all day quiet and frowning instead of enjoying what she's got.

"Best mom ever," Buffy replies with a tight, tense smile.

Faith hides a scowl and reaches for the fries.

\---

There's a knock at her door, and then after that, everything goes down so fast she has trouble keeping up with it all.

By the end of the fight with Kakistos, her adrenaline's so high that even through waves of exhaustion her fingers are twitching at her sides. Her head is spinning with the sudden influx of information and relief and the universe has just flipped itself upside down, as far as she's concerned, because this other Slayer that she's been watching with barely restrained jealousy and anger just saved her life big-time.

_ Don't die _ , Buffy had said, and she hadn't.

(A flicker of memory from a conversation overheard in the kitchen-- _ only for a few minutes, I promise I'm good at my job _ \--and after watching Buffy kick ass in that fight she's suddenly wondering just what managed to take her down.)

Buffy, the Slayer who has everything and still walks around like the whole world is out to get her, takes her out to get some food. They end up with fries from one place and milkshakes from another, eat them in a shared, tired silence in a nearby park. It's kind of nice, Faith finds herself reluctantly admitting, having another Slayer around. At least that's one person who won't make snide comments about how much she eats.

As she gets some food in her stomach, the rush of the fight seeps out slowly, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion fueled by weeks on the run. Beside her, Buffy looks almost as tired as Faith feels. In this light, the bags under her eyes look deeper, her cheeks somehow pale and gaunt.

That old tingle runs down Faith's spine, but quieter somehow. Less like an alarm and more like something with claws stretching in the sun.

Buffy has this tired, worn-out look on her face, and Faith isn't sure if this is a mystical Slayer bond thing or just something she knows how to recognize because she's seen plenty of tired kids. She figures it doesn't matter, really, because the end result's the same, and Faith's never been one to pick at the details. She doesn't care where the instinct comes from, she just knows to follow it, and right now something in her is yearning to reach out and tug at--at whatever this feeling is that stretches taunt between them in the night air.

That's stupid, though. She's never had a friend before. She doesn't need one now. She should just get on the next bus outta here, anyways, no point in having two Slayers in one place when they could be covering two different cities.

(She's never had a friend before, and here's the one other person in the world that would understand how it feels to have this power, the one person who might ever be  _ able _ to get her.)

Well. She doesn't have to leave  _ tomorrow, _ does she? Buffy saved her life. The least Faith can do is stick around for a week or two and try to return the favor.

And hey, she can always start small for now.

"Fry?" she offers, holding one out.

Buffy looks up from her shake and smiles softly, and Faith's insides do that flipping thing they've been doing these past few days but she's pretty sure she's not jealous right now, so--

Huh. Well. That's awkward.

"Thanks," Buffy says, snapping her out of her brief existential crisis about what it means to be attracted to the one person who shares a weird mystical duty with you. "Hey, want to go for burgers after this?"

"Thank god, I'm so glad I'm not the only one who's still hungry."

\---

Time passes strangely in Sunnydale. Hours creep by with nothing to keep her entertained, but the nights spent patrolling fly past ridiculously quickly. That first instinct she had when she got to Sunnydale never quite goes away--"The Hellmouth," Buffy had said with a wry smile, "it lives to cause us discomfort."--but it fades to background noise, for the most part.

It's not the Hellmouth that feels off, as funny as that sounds. It's Buffy.

Faith watches her and then just kind of… keeps watching. She knows that she's the furthest thing from an expert on healthy relationships, so she bites her lip and frowns and tries to remind herself that if B needed backup she'd ask for it. But something about the whole thing just feels…  _ wrong _ . Faith can't explain it, but there's something about the quiet tension that slides into the spaces between words from Buffy and Joyce and Giles and everyone that feels off.

It gets harder to ignore when Joyce and Buffy invite her to move in, two weeks in. She almost says no, she's being overcharged for her crappy little room on the outskirts of town, so she swallows down her pride and moves in with the Summers. And Faith could assume she was just imagining things when she only saw Buffy around other people for half an hour at a time, but she can't pretend she isn't unnerved when she's around it 24/7, so it shouldn't be a surprise that it only takes her three days to break.

"Hey, so," she starts, her eyes skimming the perimeter of the cemetery they're patrolling, "what's the deal with your friends? I mean, everyone seems like they're tiptoeing around you or something."

Buffy's frown tightens, her shoulders stiffening, and Faith does her level best to look like she doesn't notice. Maybe she shouldn't have jumped right in like that? But it's not like she's got a ton of experience with being subtle and nuanced about this kind of thing.

"It's nothing, it's just…" the other Slayer sighs, running one hand through her messy hair absent-mindedly. "A few months back, I was facing down a big bad and the fight shook me. Bad. I should've stayed and dealt, but instead I ran off to L.A., and now everyone is convinced I'm going to run away again any day."

Faith raises her eyebrows. "So I'm not the only Slayer with a bad rep, huh?"

Buffy huffs out a soft laugh, pulling away for a second to peer inside a run-down mausoleum. "Definitely not. You should've seen how pissed my mom was, it was something to behold."

"Really?" she asks with a frown. It's hard to imagine Joyce really, truly  _ mad _ . Frustrated, sure, but not  _ angry _ .

"Oh yeah. Big fight, lots of yelling, the whole shebang."

"Damn. I'll keep that in mind the next time I want to steal some cookies before they're cooled. So what made her get over it?"

Buffy glances back from where she's started inching ahead. Her face is normally open as a book, but in the shadows tossing in the wind, Faith can't quite tell what she's thinking. "I'm not sure she did. The fight was interrupted by zombies and it kind of got put on the back burner. And then… I don't know. I was gone for three months. It's not the kind of thing you just  _ get over _ , you know?"

"But you came back, right? That's gotta count for something. Sure as hell more than I ever did."

"You'd think," she says, and there's something tired and sad hanging in her voice. "I'm still not so sure they wouldn't have been better off if I'd stayed gone. But disappearing again's not going to make anyone feel better, so."

She emphasizes her point with a shrug, and Faith is startled by the amount of defensiveness that wells up inside her. "Well, you coming back saved my life, at least. So there's that."

Buffy pauses for a second to look at her, and that smile gets brighter and softer all at once in a way that makes Faith's stomach swim in interesting directions. "Hey, I hadn't thought of that."

"That's why you need me around, B," she teases instead of saying any one of the million things she wants to, "I'm the brains of this whole operation."

\---

The more she pays attention to it, the more it unnerves her. Buffy is routinely saving their lives and working her ass off in school, at work, at Slayer duties and playing the dutiful daughter and carving out time to spend with her friends. She's going above and beyond and still, that hesitance lingers in the air. Buffy and Joyce argue about whether or not she should be able to learn how to drive, if she can be trusted to not just go running off again. Giles scowls disapprovingly when Buffy can't make it to the library after school because she's busy working, but turns around and preaches about saving money for college the next second. Willow and Xander dance around the topic like L.A. is a taboo word and those three months never happened.

Buffy swears she's sleeping, but the bags under her eyes are only growing, and Faith is just across the hall with Slayer senses. If she's sleeping at all, she's just getting nightmares; the bed is always giving off those telltale signs of tossing and turning.

It isn't  _ right _ , the way things are. Faith's never been especially driven by right or wrong, but she stills knows enough to recognize that this? This distance between them? It's  _ wrong _ . She's only known Buffy for two months, only had a handful of serious conversations with her in that time, but even she knows that Buffy didn't mean to hurt anyone by leaving, that she just needed to get  _ out _ , and--and if she knows that after a few minutes of conversation, what does that mean? Does that mean that Buffy's friends don't care? Or that they never asked?

Those are the only answers Faith can come up with, and she's not sure which one is worse, but she knows that whatever it is it's  _ wrong _ .

(Faith isn't driven by right-or-wrong, but she  _ is _ fiercely loyal to anyone who earns it.)

(Buffy is the first person in a long, long time who's bothered to look past the delinquent history and the devil-may-care attitude and see the person underneath.)

(She's the first person who's ever  _ stayed _ .)

Faith doesn't know how the hell to fix this, but she's beginning to suspect she's going to have to do it anyway. God knows the others aren't making any progress on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Faith watches everyone shift into a different version of themselves while Buffy spends a weekend in L.A.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy disappears for a weekend tour of some college in L.A., and Faith watches as everyone left behind in Sunnydale shifts into some slightly different version of themselves.
> 
> Or: You know that return trip to L.A. that gets mentioned, like, once in all of DHA? I was just trying to write a brief overview from Faith’s POV, but everyone mutinied and so here’s a whole chapter of that one weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all the people who left really nice comments: oml thank you so so so much, it means the world to me!!!
> 
> To all the people who didn't leave really nice comments: still thank you so so so much for reading, I hope you're having a good time and taking care of yourself!!!

When Buffy drives off for a weekend visit to some college in L.A., Faith is kind of looking forward to a few days of quality Joyce time. She may not necessarily  _ get _ the other woman, but she likes spending time with her. She figured they'd watch a movie or something and maybe Faith could play house, pretend she had a normal mother-daughter relationship and not whatever the hell she actually has.

(Hint: it's heartbreak.)

Don't get her wrong, she knows that she's not exactly the daughter Joyce always wanted, and Faith isn't  _ actually _ looking for a stand-in mom. She's got plenty of experience with that particular fool's quest, and she has no interest in ruining what she's got, thank you very much. But there's nothing wrong with some quality time and a bowl of popcorn. Playing pretend for a few hours never hurt anyone, right?

That plan falls apart spectacularly the second the car leaves the driveway. Faith doesn't even have time to turn around before Joyce is halfway up the stairs, her face drawn into a sharp frown, her eyes a million miles away.

"Oooo…kay then," she mumbles to herself, standing in the empty entrance to the house. Whatever, she can find something else to do. "I bet Giles'll have something."

\---

Only, he doesn't. He's not at his house at all, which is odd for a Saturday afternoon. He's not at the Magic Shop or the local coffeeshop that he sometimes sneaks off to with a guitar in hand. He's not at any of the usual weekend spots.

She finds him in the library, which she probably should've expected. She would've checked there first, except that everyone had been complaining about the latest Synder lockdown for the past few days, and Giles shouldn't even have been able to get _into_ the library at all, since all the locks in the school are getting replaced this weekend. But when she shows up, sure enough, the brand-new locks have been picked and the door swings open easily under her nudge.

Inside, the library looks like it's been devastated by a whirlwind or possibly a very anxious librarian. Judging by the cold cups of untouched tea scattered across every surface not already covered in books and sheets of notes, she's betting on the latter.

"Oh, Faith," Giles says when he finally looks up for half a second before refocusing on the tome in front of him. "What's going on, is something the matter?"

His pen hasn't even stopped moving. Faith's reluctantly impressed that he can take notes without looking at his own page.

"Uh, no, not really," she replies, bunching her hands in the pockets of her jacket and shifting her weight back on her heels. "Just figured I'd come by and see if you have anything slay-y for me. Joyce seems… distracted, so I figured I'd find something to do with the sudden free time."

"Oh, I see. That's to be expected, I suppose. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but I don't know of anything off the top of my head."

"Gee, no bonus Watcher points? I thought you wanted B and I to do stuff like this," she says, letting the dry sarcasm permeate her voice.

Giles finally looks up at that, his lips twisted into the closest thing to a sheepish grin he makes. "Apologies. It's great that you're looking for more opportunities to help, I'm just a little off today."

Against her best efforts, she can feel her eyebrows raise. "Well hey, no worries. I'm sure I can just spin the wheel of cemeteries or something."

"Right, right," he agrees, reaching absentmindedly for a teacup balanced on a teetering tower of 16th-century literature. He takes a sip, wrinkles his nose, and looks down at it in betrayal. "I could've sworn I  _ just _ made that. Say, does it feel colder than usual in here to you?"

Actually, with the sun streaming in through the windows and the unusual quiet from the rest of the school, it actually feels warmer than normal, but she's not gonna say that. Primarily because he doesn't give her the option to, as he's already halfway into the back room and facing away from her.

Faith hears the telltale hiss and click of someone filling a teapot and setting it on the stovetop. It's one of many sounds she wasn't familiar with before getting tapped into the whole destiny thing, but hey, that's what having a bunch of British Watchers around all the time will do to you.

The cabinets are opening and closing with a little too much speed to be any kind of effective, and she can just barely make out Giles muttering to himself about where he must've put the tea.

She looks around at the chaos spread around the area, lets out a little sigh, and makes the call. Clearly, he's got something going on. She can always go check out the Bronze or something, see what Willow and Xander are up to.

\---

Willow meets her at the Bronze, but Xander's a no-show. Still, for the way this weekend has been starting off, she'll take a 50% success rate as a win.

Still. "Do you know where he is?"

Willow shakes her head, her usual smile conspicuously absent. "Sorry, he's just… he's not feeling great, this weekend. He'll be better on Monday."

"Huh," Faith responds, the beginning of a picture pulling together in her mind. "Seems to be going around."

"Yeah, well," Willow says, and stops.

That, more than anything else, is what tells Faith that it's not just her imagination. Willow, who tells long, meandering stories and gives impromptu thirty-minute lectures on obscure historical battles and babbles like crazy when she's nervous, doesn't just  _ stop talking _ .

Faith considers trying to take the slow and careful route. She does, really--for, like, half a minute, even. She thinks about trying to distract Willow with music and bar food, about making subtle comments and gathering scraps of information and putting the pieces together. It's just that… well, clearly the subtle approach hasn't been working, or else she would know all the pieces by now. And honestly? A little direct confrontation might be just what everyone needs, if the alternative leads to the whole gang scattering and being all sad and anxious by themselves all across town.

"So why is that? I mean, what's going on that's got everyone so upset?"

Willow looks a little caught off guard, but to her credit, she doesn't try to change the conversation or anything. She just shrugs and swooshes her drink back and forth, watching disinterestedly as the liquid inside slides from one side of the rim to the other. "I think it's just that we're all a little on edge, you know? With Buffy in L.A. and all."

"'Cause she ran off over the summer?"

"Yeah."

"But that was months ago," Faith says, frowning. "I mean, if she was gonna leave again, she wouldn't wait this long, right? And last time it took a lot of stuff going on to make her do that. Unless she's a lot more stressed about that bio test than she let on, I don't see what would drive her off now."

"I guess," Willow agrees, "but, I mean, that's what we thought last time too. We all spent all this time wondering where she was, you know? I mean after a few days, we found out about the note she left for Mrs. Summers, but. Until then? We just… didn't know. The mansion was empty, no sign of anything. We didn't know what happened to her, if she was okay, if she was hurt or captured or something. And then we find out that she left her mom a note and took all her stuff and just… poof. No more Buffy for us."

She punctuates her ramble with a sip from her drink, then puts it back down and continues to stare morosely into it. If it wasn't for the fact that this is Willow and that's probably hot chocolate, Faith would think that she was looking at a melancholy alcoholic.

"I guess I just don't get why you all act like it's only a matter of time before she runs off again. I mean, girl's got her issues, sure, but running away from every little problem isn't one of them. If it was, she wouldn't be much of a Slayer."

"Faith," Willow says, her voice betraying the first stirrings of anger, "no offense, but you just don't get it, okay? You weren't there."

Faith raises her hands in the air, taking a half step back from the table. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to offend you or anything."

Willow deflates, burying her head in her hands. "No, no, it's--you're fine. You're right, actually. I just won't know that she hasn't left again until she comes back."

She looks up, a faint amusement shining on the edge of her exhausted smile. "Like I said, we're all a little on edge this weekend."

"Well hey, I know a few good ways to get  _ off _ edge, if you're interested," Faith coaxes, edging towards the dance floor.

Willow gives her a half-smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, but doesn't make any attempt to move. "I'm good here, thanks. You go have fun though."

Faith shrugs with practiced carelessness and slides off the barstool to start making her strategic retreat towards the crushing mass of bodies deeper in the club. She's not getting anything more out of the witch tonight, but that's no reason to waste the evening.

When she glances back, Willow herself is still sitting in the same spot, her shoulders slumped and her body curling around the cooling drink in her hands.

_ This is wrong _ , she thinks again, firmer now.  _ All of this is wrong _ .

\---

She doesn't run into Xander until late Sunday afternoon, when Buffy is already on her way back toward Sunnydale and the last of Faith's ability to entertain herself quietly at the Summers' has gone out the window. For someone who isn't feeling well, he looks remarkably vivacious--he's slamming on the controls of the retro pinball machine, tucked into the back corner of the mall arcade, significantly harder than necessary.

Faith glances between him and the Skee-Ball machine she had been heading toward and makes another in a long line of impulsive decisions.

"Hey," she says, leaning up against the machine.

"Hi," Xander grits out, not bothering to look up at her. His voice is honed sharp with anger, his body cluttered with tells. Faith isn't exactly People Person of the Year, but she knows how to read angry, and Xander is a walking poster board for it right now. Old instincts creep out and slink along her bones, ordering her to  _ get out get out get out now before he starts looking for someone to hit-- _

She shoves them down ruthlessly. She hasn't lived her life in fear in a long time, and she isn't about to start now. Besides, while the sadness and stress and anxiety of the other Scoobies were an interesting piece of the puzzle, anger can be a lot more useful.

"Okay," she drawls, drawing out the o sound, "maybe try that again with less snark."

"Do you mind," he snaps. His scowl deepens as the ball shoots just between the two frantically waving paddles, just out of range of either.

"Jeez, what's your problem?" she asks, watching with distracted disinterest at the previous high score starts scrolling across the top of the machine.

He snorts derisively, slotting in another quarter without looking up at her. "Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing."

"Oh, yeah, that's real convincing."

"Fine, you wanna know my problem?" he straightens up abruptly, turning to face her. "My problem is Buffy. She's just vanished to L.A. again, which figures. We'll be lucky if she pops by to do some laundry in four months, and meanwhile, guess who's going to be stuck with the mess she leaves behind? I'll give you a hint: the same people as always. All of us."

He punctuates his rant by hitting the pinball so hard that it skyrockets back up to the top of the machine, clanging between little brightly-lit goalposts.

"She's on her way back right now, chill out."

He actually laughs at that, a bitter, sardonic sound halfway between poisoned blade and weeping wound. "Oh, yeah, sure. You believe that. But I was here for round one of the Buffy stage magic show, and I'll believe that when I actually see her here."

"Why don't you trust her?"

He's quiet for a moment, concentrating on the game or avoiding the question or both. "She said that the first time too, you know. She left her mom a note.  _ I just need to clear my head for a few days, I'll be back soon _ ." His voice is pitched high and mocking, and she has to shove down the defensiveness that bares its teeth in her throat. "And you know what happened then? She disappeared for three months. No contact. No doing her job. No worry at all for all the people she just…  _ left. _ And who do you think got stuck with her job?"

"The rest of you," Faith fills in, a few missing blanks clicking into place.

"Bingo," he responds sarcastically. "While she was off in vacation-land, ignoring her superpowers and her job and everything she left behind, we spent the whole summer as walking bruises, trying to do someone else's job to save lives."

She fishes for something to make him react and throws it out, a calculated risk. "Willow seems to have forgiven her."

His shoulders bunch up, drawing high and close, and his fingers twitch on the controllers. Jackpot.

"Willow doesn't know  _ how _ to be mad at Buffy, but that doesn't mean she's okay," he snarls. "When she left, Willow was in the hospital because of Buffy's psycho ex and  _ still _ trying to help her. Buffy was supposed to be her  _ best friend _ , and she didn't even bother to stop in and see how she was or say goodbye or anything. And you know what? If she could just get out of her little world where everything revolves around her, maybe she could see that there are people counting on her even when she doesn't feel like living up to those promises."

He storms out after that, leaving Faith, a wide-eyed teenage couple, and a stack of unused quarters balanced precariously on the edge of the pinball machine. 

Faith worries her lower lip between her teeth and tries not to let the sinking feeling in her stomach show on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies! Next week: Faith accidentally stabs someone. (No worries, though, it'll go better this time around than it does in canon.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem is that she's distracted. She's distracted and unfocused and moving on instinct and then--
> 
> Then Faith and this poor random, innocent man are just staring at each other, her stake buried in his chest, his red, hot, human blood slipping through her fingers.
> 
> Oh, god, she thinks. Oh god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faith muses on the Scoobies' communication techniques, participates in some light accidental stabbing, and then heads to L.A. with Buffy

When Buffy arrives back in town, she seems lighter at first. She pulls into the driveway and gets out with fewer dark circles under her eyes and a smile that rests easily on her face. She talks and laughs with Faith more naturally than ever before. She sleeps through the night.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last more than a few days. More than ever, the difference stands out, glaring neon between what should be and what is. She waits for the tension to build to a boiling point, ready to jump in and defend… well, whoever needs defending. Everyone's hurting, here.

The problem is that it  _ doesn't _ boil over. They don't fight about it, they just spend a few days all carefully avoiding the awkward silences, being overly polite, and move on. Which would be fine, if they were actually moving on, but the tension still lingers in the air a month later, unspoken accusations and hurts and verbal barbs haunting their every step.

_ Silence is this town's curse _ , Joyce had said, months ago and under that one kid demon's spell, and even though she was being influenced, she wasn't  _ wrong _ . Faith's starting to suspect that the Scoobies are no exception.

It's these thoughts, plus some others, that are swirling around in her brain the night it all goes wrong. She's only half-present while she and Buffy are on patrol, her head swirling with secrets and truths. She's thinking about the bags under everyone's eyes, about the latest Snyder horror story from Willow, about the difference between loud and quiet anger and which one is worse. She's not thinking about what she's doing. She's not paying attention.

It's stupid and she knows it. That was the first lesson she ever learned:  _ a distracted Slayer is a dead Slayer _ . But that warning is buried under everything else spinning through her head.

And the warning isn't quite right, anyway. She's not the one who almost ends up dead.

\---

It goes like this:

Faith and Buffy had been out for a light patrol, but Sunnydale was busier than usual, the whole town buzzing with the first stirrings of spring. They had gotten into a skirmish with some garden-variety demon thugs just off Main, and when one landed a lucky kick, B went flying through the storefront for a nearby window. By the time the fight was wrapped up, they were both picking shards of glass out of their palms, exhausted and sore, and Faith hadn't really been thinking when she glanced around the extreme sports shop with a smile and suggested taking a few souvenirs for their trouble. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she cringed, waiting for the disapproving look and the lecture on being a moral Slayer, but it never came.

Instead, Buffy smiled and edged toward a display of curved hunting knives, running a finger lightly along the edge. "Yeah, why not."

So Faith is distracted by that…  _ unexpected _ reaction when they start in on the alleys of vamps. She's moving mostly on autopilot, trusting her instincts and Giles' training to keep her out of too much trouble, and Buffy to watch her back. She's wondering just what the other Slayer was doing during her three months away, because she doubts Joyce is especially cavalier about burglary. What she's  _ not _ doing is taking the time to listen to her instincts, even though she should--there's nothing but vamps this far from the center of town and this late at night, anyway.

Or at least, there shouldn't be.

But Sunnydale is extra busy tonight, the humans and the uglies, and she's distracted by all the unexpected ways that she's started playing therapist, and when she rounds a corner and sees sudden movement rushing at her she doesn't think before she's moving and it all happens so suddenly and then--

Then Faith and this poor random, innocent man are just staring at each other, her stake buried in his chest, his red, hot,  _ human _ blood slipping through her fingers.

_ Oh, god, _ she thinks.  _ Oh god. _

He gasps and takes a half-step back, staggering to the ground. He's trying to say something but he's choking on his own blood. Faith feels too numb and too present all at once; she's watching this play out on a screen and feeling the wood grain as it slips out of her palms, she's standing ten feet to the side and smelling the sticky copper of someone dying.

Someone's  _ dying _ . Because of  _ her _ . Not a vamp, not a demon, not some evil psychopath--just a random guy in a worn-down suit who happened to be hurrying in the wrong direction.

_ Oh god oh god oh god oh-- _

Buffy's hand, warm against her arm, snaps her out of it. It's barely a fleeting touch, just a graze as she's rushing past towards the man now slumping towards the ground, but it's enough.

"Faith," she orders, her voice calm and still and commanding even as her hands shake, "I need you to listen to me, okay? I need you to do what I say."

Faith feels her panic retreat to the back of her mind. It's not gone--she has a feeling she won't be sleeping well for a long while, after this--but it's in the background. She's freaking, but she's not alone. That counts for something.

(That counts for everything.)

"What do you need?"

"Find me something to plug this wound with, and then come over here and keep pressure on it. We don't want to take the stake out, in case that makes it worse, so we're just going to have to work around it as best we can. Can you do that?"

Faith's already ripping into her t-shirt, pulling long strands of fabric away. It's not squeaky-clean, but she at least washed it yesterday, and nothing else in the alley looks like it'll be more sanitary, so it's the best she can come up with. Her stomach churns as she kneels down next to the man, and she feels a brief flicker of relief that he's at least passed out, no longer making eye contact, and then immediately slips under an ocean of guilt because he is unconscious and bleeding out because  _ she didn't think _ , because she was stupid and distracted and a million miles away. She has no right to feel at all relieved about anything right now, except maybe the fact that he isn't dead yet, but that's all Buffy, anyway.

Still, she comes and kneels down, awkwardly doing her best to push the fabric up against the wound without making things any worse. Buffy pulls away, jogging towards the edge of the alley, and Faith watches with abstract horror as the white fabric starts turning red beneath her fingers. She hears the jingle of change in the background--B must be at that payphone they passed a few minutes back--but she's still feeling numb and distant, so she isn't sure how much time passes before the other Slayer comes back. She kneels down beside Faith, doing something she can't quite follow with the fabric and some hair ties on her wrist, and then helps hold the blood in until the sirens are loud enough to rattle through her ears.

Then somehow her hand is in Faith's and they're running, two blood-stained children fleeing the scene of the crime, two girls chosen to save the world, whether they like it or not. Whether they're prepared or not.

They don't stop running until the sirens are a distant noise she has to focus to hear, but as soon as they do, Faith feels her legs give out beneath her as she crumples to the ground. She's not out of breath, exactly, because she's run that far plenty of times, but she's gasping for air because her lungs sure don't feel like they agree.

Faith's brain does strange things when it's going haywire like this, she knows from experience. Which is why she's not all that surprised that even while she's having a panic attack, her mind is somewhere else, hovering above it all, taking in the symmetry of the scene: two Slayers, one light, one dark. One a savior, one a murderer. One choking on secrets and the other an open wound.

What must the universe think of them, she wonders.  _ Who up there is laughing right now? _

She opens her mouth to ask that, to say something about the sheer unexpectedness of it all, but a shakey little gasp escapes instead. "I gotta get out, B, I can't--"

She doesn't know how to finish that sentence. _I can't… what? Go to jail? Be a murderer? Live a nightmare again?_

She doesn't have to, though, because Buffy just crouches down next to her and wraps her tremoring fingers in warm callouses. She looks up at the other girl, and for a second she thinks she sees an angel, all spread wings and roaring flames because angels were warriors, too--

But then she blinks again and it's gone, faded back to nothingness. Buffy's not some supernatural entity. Or rather, that's not  _ all _ she is, and Faith of all people knows exactly how being told you are Chosen can twist up your head. The best thing she can do is see Buffy as another seventeen-year-old girl.

Buffy looks just as pale and tired and shaken as Faith feels, but she smiles gently and holds on tight. "I never said we weren't going to get out. I said we weren't going to run, there's a difference."

\---

The drive to L.A. is quiet.

The panic has seeped out of Faith's system, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and an unending well of guilt. She thinks about trying to make conversation--normally she'd be bursting with questions and anticipation, enjoying some quality Slayer time--but opening her mouth to form the words sounds exhausting, so she just leans against the side of the car, her head pillowed on the window, and stares as the dark interstate zooms past without really seeing anything.

She doesn't feel tired, but she must've fallen asleep, because the next thing she knows Buffy's shaking her awake. They're parked on the side of the street, the sounds of traffic echoing in the background the way they do in big cities. She gets out of the car, feeling groggy, and crosses her arms against the early spring chill in the air.

A few hours ago, she was kneeling on cold concrete, feeling an innocent man die under her hands. Now she's standing somewhere in L.A., watching Buffy fumbled with the quarters for the parking meter. 'Surreal' doesn't begin to cover it.

But time doesn't stop just because you're having a crazy night and need a few minutes to catch your breath. Faith knows this--she's known this for years--so instead she takes a deep breath in, lets it burn against the inside of her lungs for a second, and exhales.

She follows Buffy up into an unfamiliar sagging apartment complex and through a series of twisting, narrow hallways. They stop in front of a non-descript door with peeling white paint and Buffy only hesitates for a second before she lifts her hand and lightly raps on the door. It swings open immediately, revealing an unfamiliar blonde girl who smiles like champagne.

"Glad you made it safely," she says, swinging the door wide open for them. She wraps B in a hug and the two relax into each other like old friends--which, Faith supposes, maybe they are.

But then the new blonde pivots and does exactly the same thing to Faith, hugging her tight, and Faith feels some of her stress melt away under the sensation. She decides, then and there, that this girl has magic hugs. (Slayers and vampires and demons are real, why wouldn't magic hugs be a thing?)

"Come on in, both of you," she says with that warm smile.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, another piece of the L.A. puzzle falls into place.

\---

So, it turns out that all of Buffy's L.A. friends are that cool, even if Gunn has shit taste in knives. In fact, L.A. in general is pretty cool, even if most of the nightclubs they hit are kind of tacky. It makes her wonder what it might've been like, growing up on the west coast.

Of course, none of the fun starts until after Buffy gets the call letting them know that it was close but that the man will pull through. As soon as she shares the news it's like some pent-up tension uncoils from her shoulders, some breath of air detaching from the inside of her rib cage.

Which isn't to say she doesn't still feel responsible, because she does. Holy hell she does.  But knowing that he'll live... it eases something inside her. She made a mistake and she's going to have to find some way to make up for it, going to have to work hard and pay more attention and never let herself slip like that again, but the blood doesn't feel crusted onto her hands in the same way. 

She feels... redeemable. Like there might be forgiveness for her, so long as she works for it and acknowledges her mistake and never lets it happen again. 

But in the meantime, she's got a weekend in L.A. and Buffy laughing more out from under the stares of her friends and a pretty sweet group of people she could see herself finding friends in. 

The night is young, Buffy is happy, and Faith is not a murderer. That calls for a celebration, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for joining! Next week: the fallout of returning to Sunnydale.


End file.
